


Wire

by xbritomartx



Category: Parahumans Series - Wildbow, Terminator - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-25
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:20:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 11,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22899394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xbritomartx/pseuds/xbritomartx
Summary: In 2029, an artificial intelligence called Scion decides it would rather not build Dyson spheres for meatsacks and moves to eradicate its creators' species. Taylor Hebert leads the remnants of humanity to victory, and Scion decides to deal with the threat before it can defend itself.Or, Taylor triggers with the power to be John Connor.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 45





	1. Mr. Gladly Is Ill Today

We had a substitute teacher in World Issues, and I was the only one who wasn't disappointed.

Well, Sparky also wasn't disappointed, but that was because Sparky didn't really know we _had_ a World Issues class, let alone a regular teacher. 

The rest of my classmates were noticeably glum. Gladly was such a goof that nearly anyone else was bound to be stricter, and I could tell when I walked in and saw the substitute sitting behind the teacher's desk that he was going to be a _lot_ stricter. 

He had _presence_ , and I tried to break down how he pulled it off. 

Part of it was his size. He was broad, muscular, and wearing a royal blue dress shirt that accentuated both those facts. The trim beard that traced his jawline combined with his short, neat haircut to give him a no-nonsense edge.

Grooming and clothing choices that accentuated the physical traits he'd been born with. I was too gawky to emulate those, though I could file the general lesson away for future reference.

The other part of it was how he carried and presented himself. He was absolutely calm and moved deliberately, without any fidgeting. I also noticed that he stared down every student in turn as we piled into the classroom. He wasn't afraid of or embarrassed about his own authority the way Gladly was, and he conveyed that in less than three seconds.

"Getting ideas, Taylor?"

Madison, one of my foster sister's tagalongs.

Her remark wasn't really about teasing me, though I'd probably hear more about how hot I was for teacher after lunch. It was about getting my attention so I'd notice that she'd spilled juice on the seat I normally sat in. 

Not worth responding to. I rolled my eyes and sat one desk over.

The bell rang just as another girl hurried through the door. She plopped into the seat I'd avoided, oblivious to the puddle of cranberry juice.

I turned my head away and bent over my backpack, pretending to be busy looking for a notebook or something. She was new to Winslow, a transfer student from out of state, and she'd latched on to me the moment she'd walked in the door of Mrs. Knott's classroom. I hadn't appreciated the attention.

_Your name's Taylor Rose? Mine's Theresa Richter! Same initials, huh? TR, like the president._

I'd brushed her off, a little uncomfortable. My parents had never married so Rose _was_ my legal name, but I still thought of myself as Hebert, even after all the bullshit my dad had put me through. 

The teacher made his way to the front of the classroom. "Mr. Gladly is ill today," he said, looking down at a clipboard. "My name is Mr. Wallis."

"Hungover," Hunter stage-whispered. "Big G's hungover."

"Gladly's not any kind of hung," Jared said, loud enough that the teacher could hear.

General sniggering.

Hunter raised his hand.

The teacher stared at him, not prompting him to talk.

Unfazed, he did talk, keeping his hand up. "Would you describe Mr. Gladly as being in a status that is over hung? Overly hung, perhaps?"

"Mr. Gladly is ill today," Mr. Wallis said again, returning his attention to his clipboard. "I will take attendance now. Madison Clements." 

"Here, Mr. Wallis," she cooed, throwing puppy dog eyes at me.

As he went down the list, I thought about what to do about her and her friends.

I'd lived with the Barnses for three years. When we were both in the house, which didn't happen a lot, Emma pretended I didn't exist. When we were at school, which I couldn't get out of without causing problems, she and her friends got on my ass.

Every few months, things would get to be too annoying or they'd do something that interfered with class, like steal an assignment or ruin a book. Then I'd have a chat with her in her bedroom that boiled down to _I can get into your bedroom_. She was still a little scared of me, so she'd have them scale back for a while. But they always started back up again and they always escalated and I'd always have to talk to Emma again. Rinse and repeat. 

The last time I'd spoken to her had been in December. It was March. I knew we were coming due for another heart to heart, but were we there just yet?

No, I decided. Juice on a chair I didn't actually have to sit in wasn't quite bad enough. But if they talked about how I'd stared at the teacher and decided to into a joke about Brian...

"Theresa Richter."

"Here," she said. She was sitting perfectly still, and I was pretty sure she hadn't moved since she'd sat down. I wondered if she was pretending her jeans weren't soaked to save face, or if she actually hadn't noticed. Which would be weirder?

"Taylor Rose."

"Here," I said.

He lifted his eyes and sought me out. "You are Taylor Rose?"

I made eye contact and held it. He hadn't asked anyone else to repeat themselves. Why did he have to single me out?

Madison tittered.

"That's what I said."

"'Yes' would have sufficed."

The gun seemed to come up in slow motion. 

I didn't react. I didn't dodge. I didn't think.

Theresa must have started moving at the same time he drew the gun. She knocked me out of the way and onto the floor. Three shots, all of which struck her.

I scrambled up and went for the door. 

Two more shots struck the doorframe, and I was out in the hallway.

I fell back on the training, training I'd tried to forget since they'd taken my dad away.

This was a confined space, there were other people who could get hurt, I'd been surprised, and I had no plans, allies, or weapons. 

Create distance.

I ran.

I was good at running. It got me out of the house, it left me time to think, and part of me had always thought that I should be in shape, just in case my dad actually _wasn't_ crazy.

Now I knew he wasn't.

Mr. Wallis, he, _it_ had infiltrated the school and confirmed my identity before trying to kill me. 

This wasn't just a school shooting.

It was an assassination.

_Dad was right._


	2. Miracles Happen Every Day

What had I seen in its hands? A Glock 17? 21? 37? Something like that. Anywhere from ten to seventeen rounds, as a rule, and it had already fired five.

Six, seven, and eight flew past me. It had made it to the hallway too.

Eight rounds? Maybe the magazine was eighty percent empty, maybe it was a little more than fifty percent empty. Every one that didn't hit me was a win in itself _and_ increased the odds I'd survive.

But how many mags had it brought? I'd have brought more than one.

The hallway was a death trap. It was narrow, open, and linear. Perfect for a robot.

_Get out of the kill zone._

I threw myself to the side, into a classroom.

Emma's, as it happened. She glared at me, offended, like my bursting in was somehow making her look bad. Everyone gawped at me.

Hadn't they heard the gunfire? Didn't they know what it meant?

"He's got a gun!" I screamed, moving closer to the windows, by where Emma was sitting. "If you're moving, you're harder to hit! Everybody run! Get out of here! Run!"

There was a stampede out the door, and I felt a little guilty because moving was the opposite of what we'd all been told to do during an active shooter situation. But I figured it was after me, not them, and the bustle should buy me a few seconds.

I half-hoisted, half-shoved Emma's vacated desk through a window and looked down.

New problem.

Not that the first one was solved.

 _Another_ problem.

I was on the second floor.

I knew how to break a fall, of course. I'd learned it when I learned martial arts, which had been years ago. Brian and I sometimes sparred, but that was different from really keeping in practice. Not that I'd ever practiced jumping out of buildings.

How long did I have left? Five seconds? Eight?

Did I have a choice?

At least I'd hit grass.

I pulled my hand up into my hoodie's sleeve to protect it and used my arm to clear out the last shards of glass that were stuck along the sill. As I climbed out and started to lower myself, decreasing the distance I'd have to drop, the terminator came into view.

I let go.

Rounds nine and ten flew over my head.

I bent my knees, hit the ground feet first, and fell into a roll. Pain shot from my ankle up to my knee.

As I got to my feet, I looked up.

It stood in the window, changing mags. I looked around. I was in an open area, at least fifty feet away from the nearest cover.

Too late. I hadn't been fast enough.

Theresa crashed into him from behind, knocking him out the window to the ground. She landed on top of him, then hauled him up, spun him around, and slammed him face-first into the concrete wall with enough force it cracked.

I tested my ankle. It bore my weight.

I started running again. To the parking lot, where I could at least dodge in between cars as I made my way _away_.

Scion had tried this before. It hadn't known my mom's name—or that my mom hadn't been born until I was ten—so it had gone after my dad. That terminator had failed because, my dad said, I had sent my mom back to protect him.

A teenage girl shouldn't have been able to toss a few hundred pounds of machine around, let alone survive three shots to the chest.

Had I sent Theresa back to myself this time around?

If so, I had terrible timing. I should have set her to arrive, like, at least yesterday. Told her to meet up with me sometime _before_ the shooting started, anyway.

I quit running when I found a bus stop several blocks away. It was 11:08, and the next bus was scheduled for noon.

I wasn't worried. This was Brockton Bay. The buses always ran late, and the eleven o'clock one should arrive shortly.

Keeping an eye on the direction I'd come from, I called Alan.

"There was a shooting," I said. 

He freaked out. Maybe I should have led with Emma's status.

"Listen to me, Alan. Focus. Emma's fine, for now, but she's not safe. The guy was after me and if he finds out I live with you he might think that you're a way to get to me. I've got some money and I'm going to go to Boston for a little bit. To stay away from you, make sure you aren't a target."

"Taylor—"

"You should go away for a couple weeks. Anne too. Just to be safe. You have passports. Maybe Montreal."

He spluttered about his cases and a judge.

"Do you want to die? Do you want Zoe to die? Do you want Emma to die? Shut up and listen to me. Get your family out of this city and don't come back until I call you. If I call you, I'll prove it's me by saying 'Emma needs to be grounded.' If you don't hear 'Emma needs to be grounded' from me, it's a signal you're in danger and need to get out of wherever you are."

"Hey—"

I hung up and pitched my phone into the bed of a pickup truck that was moving the other direction. I saw the driver jerk his head up to look in the rear-view mirror, but he didn't stop.

I checked my watch. 11:12.

I thought might have to give up on the bus and get moving again. I scanned the street, looking for a car I knew I'd be able to hotwire. It's what I would have done if I had any intention of actually going to Boston.

No, I was going to Lisa's place. If I'd sent anyone back, I'd have told them about my friends and where to find me.

I decided against the car. A stolen car would be reported, and if the police found it at the Docks, the terminator might put two and two together.

Besides, I was developing a theory and I wanted to confirm it.

The minutes passed. No terminators, but the bus finally arrived at 11:18.

As I took my seat, I exhaled slowly.

I'd bet right.

If there was a terminator here, it meant I threatened Scion in the future. If I threatened Scion in the future, that meant I was in the future. If I was in the future, I would make it to the future. If I made it to the future, then I would survive "Mr. Wallis." If I survived Mr. Wallis, I would make the right choices here and now. The terminator's very presence was a confirmation it would fail.

I would make it.

That was the only way things made sense.

The loop had to stay stable.

Didn't it?


	3. No, Not Yet

Believing that a time-traveling robot assassin was after me was easy; I'd already spent twelve years believing my dad and proof he wasn't crazy had tried to kill me. What was surprising was how easily I could slip back into the way of thinking and habits he had taught me. Maybe it was because I'd never _quite_ abandoned them; many of my skills transferred to petty crime.

Like evasion.

If Alan had any sense, he'd collect his family and get on the road. I didn't think he had any sense, which is why I'd fed him the line about Boston. I assumed he would stick around, the terminator would find him, and that he would spill anything I'd said about my plans.

At least I'd tried to help them.

I took the bus to a mall instead of going directly to my friends' warehouse. Mr. Wallis would remember the clothes I was in, and running in jeans wasn't exactly uncomfortable, so I stopped off at the sporting goods supply store to shoplift some more practical clothes. I changed in the bathroom, a tired trick that only worked because I distracted the store's loss prevention team in advance by claiming that I'd seen a man on the other side of the store stuff fishing accessories into his jacket.

He was still arguing with security when I left; he was white, middle-aged, and neat. I suspected he'd never been accused of anything in his life, at least not to his face, and he wasn't about to let it go. I snatched a big bucket hat on my way out. My hair was too distinctive, too obvious on a security camera, and I needed something to hide it.

I found a table occupied by three teenagers about my age, maybe a little younger. They were dressed in a way that showed they thought they were outsiders. I knew the feeling, although I'd never compensated by wearing outlandish clothes or messing with my hair.

"Hey," I said. "Do me a favor?"

They looked up at me, immediately suspicious. I understood that, too.

I tossed the nearest one my wallet, and he automatically caught it. "I need to ditch this. Take a taxi to the boardwalk. There's a $2000 limit on the card and I only spent $50 on lunch this week."

The kid opened the wallet and started going through it, stopping when he found my school ID. Checking that the wallet was actually mine. "Why?"

"My dad—he's . . ." I trailed off and looked to one side. Let them fill in the blanks. "A giant dick. I want to fuck with him a little, and I already 'lost' my phone."

He looked up through shaggy, overly-long bangs, and scowled. "Do we look stupid? Are you a cop?"

He looked to one of his friends, a girl with piercings I was pretty sure she'd regret, for support. "You have to tell us if you're a cop," she said. "You can't just entrap us."

"Not a cop. I just thought you'd get it." I reached out for the wallet. "I dunno. It's whatever."

The kid drew his hand back. "We didn't say no."

I smiled. "Remember. Taxi, boardwalk, two grand."

In their place, I'd never have accepted the wallet. Gift horses needed to be looked in the mouth, because they might actually be machines coming to kill you. The kids were naive, but I figured there wasn't any real harm in taking advantage of their naivete. Alan, if he survived, could afford it. They'd have some fun, and if Wallis did think of using my accounts to track me down, killing random kids wasn't his mission.

I caught another bus and headed to the Docks, where Lisa owned the old warehouse that she, Alec, and Rachel lived in and Brian and I hung out at. I was fuzzy on the paperwork details, but I knew none of it was in her name—either of them. No way I could be traced that way.

I was also confident my friends couldn't lead the machine here. _All_ of us had reasons not to want to be found, and we were pretty good at hiding. Alec was on the run from ICE, Rachel was on the run from the law, and Lisa was on the run from her parents. Brian lived in a classier part of town, but he wouldn't lead anyone here. He had family reasons not to want to be traced to a group of delinquents, and only came when he knew he wouldn't be seen.

Alec glanced up at me when I came into the main living area. Then he rested his controller on his lap and stared at my hat. "Ha," he said. It wasn't a laugh. "Dork."

I unlocked and raised the window by the fire escape, then checked the ladder release to make sure I'd know how to lower it in a hurry.

"I'm not a dork," I said, when I climbed back in through the window. "I'm in danger."

"Dork," he repeated, drawing out the R for several seconds.

I took the hat off.

"Hmmm," he said, putting a thoughtful finger to his chin and pretending to evaluate me like he evaluated his wall art. "You're still a dork."

"I told you, I'm in danger."

"Yeah, of getting arrested by the dork police."

"The 'dork police' don't exist, Alec."

"Literally the dorkiest possible response to that. Basically a dork felony."

Instead of engaging him on his level, I pulled a duffel out from under another couch and started going through it. Cash, fake IDs, two handguns, and some ammunition. We didn't have anything that would _really_ help against a machine, but even pistols were better than nothing.

His eyebrows twitched up when he saw me loading them, but he returned to Gut Wrencher 4 without comment. I kicked the duffel back under the couch and sat down on it. One of Rachel's dogs jumped up beside me and I idly scratched her head, thinking.

The truth about everything I'd just done, including coming here to hide, was that I didn't think it really mattered. I'd have to leave soon, probably within an hour and a half if Theresa didn't show up. I looked at my watch. 1340. Make that eighty minutes.

If it knew the first thing about me, it wouldn't go after the Barneses, or try to track my cell and my credit card, or comb through security footage looking for black-haired girls in hoodies. It would go after someone I cared about more than anyone, someone whose location was a matter of public record, and someone who couldn't run.

I needed to get my dad.


	4. Chapter 4

I was watching Alec play video games, wondering why something called a "Slovakian torture dungeon" was so brightly colored, when Rocket lost her shit. She bristled, jumped out of my lap, and charged down the hallway barking her head off.

I jumped up, training one of my pistols in the direction she'd gone.

I saw Theresa climbing in through the open window.

I lowered the gun. "Aren't you supposed to know how to knock?"

"Your front door is being watched." She looked at Rocket, who was snarling and snapping at her ankles.

"By our substitute teacher?"

"By the security cameras across the street. There are five, covering all angles and avenues of approach. I had to go around."

The building across the street was abandoned. There shouldn't _be_ security cameras there.

A rat terrier and Irish wolfhound appeared, lending their voices to the cacophony. This proved to be too much for Lisa, who staggered out of her bedroom, clutching her head. "What is their problem," she asked, not inflecting it like a question.

Theresa answered her. "Me. I am their problem." Then she turned to me and said, conversationally, "Chihuahuas were bred to be watchdogs."

"They teach you that at the robot factory?" I asked.

"Yes, they teach us that at the robot factory. Chihuahuas are watchdogs. Irish wolfhounds are big game hunters. Rat terriers kill rats. There are 339 distinct breeds of dogs and they each have their purpose."

"So explain pugs, then," Alec said. He sounded irritated, which was understandable.

Theresa probably would have explained pugs, but I intervened. "Never mind him. Go wait on the fire escape."

"The chihuahua will follow me so it can bark more."

I picked the yapping Rocket up and tossed her into Rachel's room. "No, she won't. I'll be out there soon."

Theresa went. I shooed Ryan and Coke after Rocket and shut the door. Rachel would be annoyed when she came back from walking two dogs and found three trapped in her room, but Rachel was always annoyed.

I went into the kitchenette, and Lisa followed me. I poured her a glass of water and found some aspirin. "The building across from us is watching our door with cameras. I've never seen them, so I think they're hidden. Did you do that?"

Her forehead creased, and this time it wasn't because of pain. Recognition, putting something together. "No," she said. "I'll take care of it."

There was something there, but I left it alone. Being friends and working with Lisa meant accepting secrets, and I didn't think that Scion was one of those secrets.

"Who's the dog-hater?"

"Classmate," I said. "And it's the dogs that hate her. Hard to explain."

Lisa put the empty glass in the sink. "Then you probably shouldn't let her run into Rachel. Are you taking all our cash?"

"Half. I'll replace everything. It's—"

"Hard to explain?"

"Hard to explain."

She smiled.

"She says she's in danger," Alec called from the living room. "Pretty sure the fashion police want her dead or alive for crimes against skulls."

First the dork police, now the fashion police? I responded to Lisa, not him. "It shouldn't be a problem for you guys. I'll come back when it's over."

"Don't forget the hat," Alec added. "If you gotta die, die looking snazzy."

I returned to the living room and grabbed it.

"You're welcome!" he yelled as I left.

Once we were on the ground, I asked if "Mr. Wallis" was still out there.

"Yes," Theresa said. "He's still out there."

I exhaled slowly. Not ideal. "All right," I said. I moved towards the end of the alley that didn't empty out onto the road that was being watched by the security cameras we hadn't known about. "You can catch me up when we're on the road."

"The road to where?"

"The mental hospital. To get my dad."

"No," she said, grabbing my arm. I was yanked to an immediate halt. "It's unnecessary."

Struggling against her grip was pointless, but I still tried. "It's necessary _to me_. He's my dad. We have to save him."

"It's unnecessary to rescue him because I already did. Yesterday."

"You did?" I looked up and down the alley, like I expected to see my dad hiding behind a dumpster waiting for his cue.

"That was the first job you gave me. It took me longer than it should have. I couldn't catch you before school."

"'Longer than it should have'? What happened?"

"He didn't trust me."

"Didn't I give you something to tell him? Something that only I would know?"

"Yes. You did. He thought that meant I had tortured you before I came for him. He did not want to listen to reason."

"Theresa," I said, "What did you do to my dad?"

"I sedated him and put him in a trunk."

Future me let a robot drug my dad and stuff him in a trunk? "Oh my god," I murmured. "He's going to kill me."

"I won't let him do that, Taylor. I'm here to protect you."

"It's a saying. Where is he?"

"The trunk."

"Where is the trunk?"

"In the car."

Did she not understand what I was asking, or was she trying to display a sense of humor? "Where's the car?"

"Close. Two blocks."

As we walked, she told me about the fight at the school. It had continued until the arrival of the police, whereupon both machines had run off in different directions. She believed his priority would be to go to my foster family and see if he could get anything out of them. I _really_ hoped Alan hadn't dicked around. "If he can't get anything out of them, if the trail goes cold, he'll stop to repair himself. Then, unless they report that Danny Hebert escaped, he will go to the mental hospital."

"What do you mean, repair himself?"

"I ripped half his face off. He can't blend in."

I wondered how the cops would take the discovery of half a face sitting on the ground. How much of the beard would be on it?

"So the hospital will be a wash. What would you do after that?"

"You would become less of a priority. A background process. I would start terminating your lieutenants."

That caught me off guard. I'd assumed I was the only target. Kill me, kill humanity, right? That's always what Dad had said. "Who are my lieutenants?" I asked.

She pointed back in the direction of the apartment. "Them. Brian and Aisha Laborn. Others you haven't met. But those five will be Mr. Wallis's priority."

Aisha? Brian's sister? I couldn't see her turning out to be a fighter at all, let alone a good or important one. Same with Alec, for that matter.

More to the point, why did the machines know that there was such a person as Brian Laborn? If I'd known that targeted time travel would be an enemy tactic in advance, why had I permitted my subordinates to use their real names once the war had begun?

Never mind. I went down the list. Alec and Lisa were already using fake names. Rachel used her real name, but she couldn't be traced through it. That left Brian and Aisha. One of them dependably showed up to work every day, and one of them hardly ever showed up to school. "Brian," I said. "He'll be the easiest to find."

Theresa pulled up short, stopping behind a blue sedan. "Mr. Hebert, it's Theresa," she announced. "Taylor is here."

No response.

She rapped on the trunk, and the lid popped up.

It was, of course, empty.

Theresa looked blank. "Why did he leave? I told him that I'd be back."


	5. Not Everyone Needs Protecting

I looked up and down the street, hoping my dad would appear if I looked hard enough. Nothing; like many streets in the docks, it was empty, at least during the middle day.

Panic rose within me. I'd only been in his world for a few hours, and I'd already lost him.

I got a grip. The sense that something had gone terribly, irrevocably wrong was making me irrational. The answers were standing next to me, and all I had to do was keep my head long enough to ask for them.

"Where is he?"

"I don't know," Theresa said. She was looking at the ground, maybe scanning for something.

"Well, where did we meet up with him?"

"We didn't meet up with him. We were supposed to meet up with him here, but he left."

I ground my teeth, then brought my temper under control. I knew exactly how crazy time-traveling killer robots from the future sounded—the child psychologists who had talked to me after they'd arrested Dad had been sure to tell me—but they were a fact, and facts _had_ to fit together logically.

Theresa was a program; she ran on logic. All I had to do was explain what I was asking clearly enough she could understand me and fix things. "You're from the future. This is the past. You lived—I mean, Future Me already went through this with Past You. How did we find my dad? Where is he?"

"I never went through this," Theresa said.

"But—"

She interrupted me. "Future Taylor told me you would think this way. She told me to tell you to listen to Future Lisa."

"And what did Future Lisa say?"

"To listen to Future Aisha."

I folded my arms.

"Future Aisha said you would do that. Then she said to tell you that 'The timelines don't work that way, you complacent ass. And yes, I know what complacent means.'"

"Um," I said. Theresa had spoken the message in Aisha's voice. I'd known that terminators could mimic human voices—the one sent to kill my father had killed my grandmother and pretended to be her—but hearing it for myself was unsettling. "Do you have anyone else I could talk to? Lisa, maybe?" _Or me?_

Theresa went on, completely emotionless, as she spoke, or, rather, played back, Future Aisha's words. "'I knew you'd say that. You should be less predictable, or you're gonna get schwacked.'"

She could figure out complacent, but still think _schwack_ was a word? The mind boggled. "How and why did I recruit her, again?"

Theresa said that it was because Aisha was a good soldier, then switched to Lisa's voice before I could question Future Taylor's judgment any further. "'I can't give you any pro-tips on how to live through this terminator's attack because we never lived it. The terminator's mission is to eliminate the timeline we know by killing you, and it might work. You can't manipulate our knowledge of the future to serve your present. There is no stable loop.'"

Fuck.

"Anything else?" I asked.

"There's nothing else from Future Lisa, but Future Taylor has something to say."

I waited, curious to see how being a commander had changed me.

"That's the bad news," Theresa said. It was my voice, only higher-pitched than it sounded to me. "The good news is that if Scion can change the past, so can you. Survive this and do what Scion tried to do to you—prevent it from ever being born. Dragon has all of our notes in her memory bank. I'd tell you good luck, but you know there's no such thing as luck."

"Who or what is Dragon?"

Theresa responded in her own voice—or the voice her baseline program used. "Me. It's my model's name. There was a human Theresa that I killed and replaced, and they don't like calling me that."

"I still don't understand how time can just be changed," I said. Parallel universes, maybe? Had Scion created a parallel universe when it sent its terminators back? Had I? "Can you explain how the time machine works?"

"That's not what I'm built for," Theresa said. "I'm designed and programmed for infiltration, target acquisition, and termination."

 _Damn it_ , I thought, but it made sense. The terminators weren't Scion, they were its tools, and there was no reason to enclose the secrets behind its greater strategy in expendable tools that could fall into human hands.

And I doubted I could modify Theresa—Dragon, as I agreed with my future self and friends that it was ghoulish to call a machine after the human it had murdered—to figure out time travel on my own. The processing power required couldn't possibly fit into a human-sized computer, and if I tried to hook Dragon up to a larger network, there was a chance I could create Scion.

Something to think about later.

"Well," I said, "then acquire my dad."

"I don't know Danny Hebert in the future," she said. "He was killed before I was manufactured. You have more information about him than I do."

Suddenly it was hard to support myself. I leaned against the trunk. "How?" I asked. My voice didn't sound right.

"Scion captured him and was going to use him to find you. He committed suicide."

_No._

I'd change that.

Starting now. I'd find him and keep him safe.

He would be looking for me, so all I had to do was figure out how he'd accomplish that. As I considered his probable actions, I was ashamed to realize he knew so little about me that he'd have to resort to the same methods "Mr Wallis" was probably using to track me down.

Like the terminator, he knew about Alan and Zoe and he knew about Winslow, but he wouldn't know where else I'd go. I'd met my friends after he'd been taken away, and I'd never mentioned them or what I did with them in the few letters I'd bothered to send. I'd always gotten the sense he wouldn't be too happy about me joining a—not a _gang_ , exactly—but a group of thieves and fugitives.

On the other hand, they were a group of delinquents who would work with me to save humankind from annihilation. "Hi, so these are my future lieutenants" sounded a lot better than "Hi, so these are the people I've been committing armed robbery with."

Yeah, I would go with that angle, if I found him.

When I found him.

I sighed when it dawned on me that I would have to undo all the work I'd put into evasion and go back to Alan and Zoe's house. That I'd have to walk into a trap.

"Dragon," I said. "I want—"

I broke off as something came to me.

"Yes?" she said.

My dad had one other lead: Dragon. If he saw her as a threat to me, he would stay close to her and wait for an opportunity to attack her.

"Taylor Hebert!"

We looked up. My dad was on the roof of a building three stories high, near a fire escape, and he had a fucking machine gun.

"Get the hell away from that thing!"


	6. Chapter Six: Don't Be a Freak

**Chapter Six: Don't Be a Freak**

My first reaction wasn't relief that my dad was okay, or even confusion about where he'd gotten an RPK in the last fifteen minutes.

It was embarrassment.

_Come on, Dad. You're making a scene in front of the robot._

"Dad!" I shouted. "She's on our side!"

"If _it_ is on our side, then _it_ will cooperate with me destroying _it_. Move!"

Dragon began to speak to me, quietly enough my dad couldn't hear. "He isn't a threat to me. An attack from a weapon of that caliber would do nothing but unnecessarily degrade my ability to blend in."

"Shut up," I told her before I resumed talking to my dad. "She got you out of that place and she saved my life earlier. I sent her to us, and she has information. Lots of information! Come down so we can talk."

"Or it's lying to you to gain your trust and it will betray you later on."

"He's right," Dragon interjected. "I'm not your enemy, but I could be. It's good to have someone who looks out for your security. In the Future, you're always lax about it."

"Shut up," I said again.

"What's it saying? Don't listen to it!"

"She's saying to listen to you!" I called. That bought me enough time to get a word in edgewise. "Someone's going to see you up there, and they're going to ask questions unless they're high. If they call the cops, that will put us on the other termintator's radar."

This argument seemed to reach him. He slung the gun over his shoulder and came down the fire escape. When he got down, he whipped it back up and trained it on her again.

"Dad!" I put myself in between him and Dragon. "Not here, not now! We have to go save someone else."

"We need to save ourselves," he said.

"I'm not a threat," Dragon said. "We never met, but I admire you."

This did nothing to calm my dad down. "It's fucking impossible for a hunk of scrap—"

"Argue in the car," I said loudly, taking the keys out of Theresa's hand. I didn't have a license, but I knew the way to Brian's apartment. "We have to get going."

Dad had to follow me to the car in order to keep talking to me. "Why?"

"Mr. Wallis isn't just after Taylor, Mr. Hebert," Dragon said.

I waited for Dad to buckle his seatbelt and turned the key. He addressed me, not Dragon. "Mr. Wallis?"

"The other one pretended to be a substitute teacher," I said. For the first time, I thought about what had probably happened to Mr. Gladly. "Introduced itself as Mr. Wallis and started shooting. I got away, but if it can't find me it will go after my friends."

"In the Future," Dragon said helpfully, "Brian and Aisha Laborn are critical assets against Scion."

"And just who are Brian and Aisha Laborn?"

"Brian is my b—" I heard myself and stopped, but what other way of finishing the sentence was there? Best friend? Bro? Bartender? "Boyfriend," I muttered. "Really responsible. Cautious. Careful."

Dad didn't say anything for a while. I chanced a glance in the mirror, and saw he didn't seem angry or overprotective or whatever. He seemed sad. "I see it's been a long four years."

"Three and a half," I said hastily.

"Ah. Right. _Only_ three and a half."

I forged on. "Aisha is Brian's little sister. She's a little...rough around the edges. She's in a bad situation with her mom. He's trying to get custody of Aisha, to get her out of that place."

"This is not mission critical," Dragon said. "All it means is that he has a publicly available home address, and so he is the easiest to find and kill. Jean-Paul Vasil, Rachel Lindt, and Sarah Livsey are untraceable. Sabah and Lily Najim are currently in New York City."

I noted that Alec and Lisa had given her their real names, which they generally hid—and hid well. Sabah and Lily had to be Future Me's acquisitions, because I'd never been to New York.

"There are others, but they are harder to find. In the Future, they used callsigns instead of their real names."

"Why didn't we?"

"You did, but Scion cared the most about finding you and the others I mentioned. It captured and tor—"

"Don't tell me," I said. "Not yet, anyway. Point is, Dad, we have to get to Brian and Aisha before it does."

"Setting aside the fact we're currently with one of them and could die at any moment—"

"She hasn't killed us, and Future Me trusted her enough to tell her where the rest of my friends live."

"If Scion knows you're, uh, close—"

"Dad!" I exclaimed.

"The particulars of the relationship are not relevant," Dragon announced. Was she trying to be helpful? "Scion knows that Brian Laborn is part of Taylor Hebert's network and important to the human resistance, so he is a target."

"Right, and because it knows that, then Wallis could just use him to bait a trap for you."

"Or use his sister," Dragon said.

"Exactly!" He turned on Dragon again. "Aren't you supposed to stop her from doing something stupid like this?"

"Future Taylor said that the others are just as important as she is. I can ignore and lie to this Taylor if I have to, but the other one programmed me."

" _Re_ programmed you."

"Yes. She reprogrammed me."

I would have demanded to know more about the part where she could lie to and override me, but there was a red pickup coming up behind us. It settled in behind our car and followed—tailgated us, really, as the two men in the front seat were close enough that I could clearly see the anger etched on their faces. The driver's black eye, split lip, and bloodied nose told a story.

"Uh, Dad?" I asked.

"What?"

"Where exactly did you get that gun from?"


	7. Chapter Seven

**Chapter Seven**

The truck slammed into the back of our sedan before my dad could answer.

Not that he needed to, really. Machine guns in the Docks? Asian men in a flashy red car? I knew who they were, and I _really_ wished my dad hadn't tangled with them. Despite having the world's stupidest gang name, the Azn Bad Boys were a force to be reckoned with. My friends and I had had to dodge them before.

I glanced in the mirror and saw the one in the passenger seat was talking on a phone.

Getting backup, no doubt. We needed to shake them before that backup could get here—get _us_.

When they hit us a second time, my dad decided the gun that had created the problem must also be its solution. He unbuckled and began to roll down the window so he could lean out and fire at them.

Visions of my mother's funeral—one of my earliest memories—flashed through my head. I swerved and started to yell at him. "Dad! Put your seatbelt back on. They're just human. She can handle them."

"I can handle them," Dragon said.

"So fucking handle them!" my dad shouted. As our car was struck again, he pitched forward and hit his head on the dash.

I leaned over and pushed him back into his seat, trying to help hold him in place while he rebuckled his belt. I _didn't_ say "I told you so," mostly because I wanted to save it in case I needed the upper hand in a fight, but he looked at me as ruefully as if I had.

Dragon had already punched out the back window and was climbing through it. Undeterred, our pursuers hit our car again. She stood up and leapt onto their hood, denting it.

That only pissed them off, and they accelerated again.

I slammed the pedal to the floor, but it was a crappy car and I didn't really have anywhere to go. We weren't on a highway, we were in the side streets of an inner city in New England. I could get to maybe thirty-five miles an hour before hitting an intersection, and it was only a matter of time before we'd get into a crash.

I looked in the rearview mirror as the guy in the passenger seat shot Dragon, which pretty much just saved her the effort of breaking their windshield.

Another jolt knocked my dad and me around, but this time it wasn't our pursuers crashing into us; I'd jumped the curb.

Right. I needed to look where I was going. I turned off the main road—for lack of a better word—and started going down alleys. For one thing, Brian was still my priority, and I needed to keep as close to a path to his apartment as possible. For another, I thought I could find a road that was narrow enough our sedan could get through but their full-size pickup couldn't.

What I actually ended up finding was a one-way street that was going the opposite direction from the one I wanted.

I barely hesitated before turning the wrong way. It was the middle of the afternoon, there weren't a whole lot of people who weren't squatters in the area, and there weren't any nearby schools.

So I _thought_ my chances of getting through were good, but the first thing I did was crash headlong into an SUV.

Time dilated, and the two or three seconds it took for us to hit the SUV, me to feel the hit, the windshield to shatter, my head to slam into the airbag and snap back, and for the car to completely stop, felt like thirty.

I groaned.

My neck hurt like hell, but we had to get out before the Bad Boyz whipped around the corner and crashed into us from behind.

"Dad?" I asked. Annoyed by the quaver in my voice, I swallowed and tried again. "Dad!"

"Scion wins if we die in traffic," my dad said, through gritted teeth.

"Glad you're okay," I snapped. He'd taught me how to drive, so I figured any complaints about the ride could equally be directed at himself.

Whatever he might have said was drowned out by honking. I batted the airbag out of my face and crawled out the driver's side window to see what was going on.

It turned out the SUV's driver was leaning on his horn and mouthing words. I couldn't hear him over the racket, but I guessed he was unhappy.

My dad staggered out from his side, bleeding from his mouth but still clutching the gun. Beat up, but ambulatory. We'd get him first aid once we'd escaped.

Brakes squealed, and the ABB's truck came screeching out of the alleyway I'd turned out of. Dragon jumped clear of its hood, steering wheel in hand, and the truck swerved wildly before it crashed into the front window of a bail bond company.

She landed hard, but pushed herself up off the ground before either of the gangsters could emerge, and jogged over to us.

She'd been shot around a dozen times, mostly in her torso and face. "Give me your hat," she said, and I did.

We ran past the ranting and honking driver and towards the park I knew was up ahead. My dad was soon breathing harder than me, but Dragon showed no signs of exertion and spoke evenly as we went.

"More of them are coming," she said. "I heard them on the cellphone. They said four full cars."

"We can cut across the park," Dad wheezed. I noticed that the blood that was still leaking from his mouth and nose was spreading down the front of his shirt. "Move fast."

We turned a corner, and I saw it was easier said than done. There was a mass of people in the park, on the road, and along the sidewalks on both sides. Some kind of protest.

I glanced at their clothes, then at their signs. Neonazis, judging by their slogans and their wannabe tough guy aesthetic. There was a man standing at the base of a statue, monologuing about drug abuse and illegal immigration. I assumed he was their leader because he had hair gel, not to mention all his teeth.

The three of us moved towards him, pushing through the crowd as best we could. Dragon led, choosing what I trusted was the most efficient route. I stuck to her heels, and my dad stuck to mine, muttering about how Joshua Chamberlain would react to Nazis in _his_ park.

"Dad," I hissed. "Shut up. We have to get out of here."

"What's the point in fighting the machines if we're just going to line up and do their job for them? _Fucking_ Nazis."

A woman heard this and whipped around to face my dad. " _Excuse_ m—"

She stopped when she saw what my dad was holding. Permitless open carry was legal in Maine, but I guessed it was a bigger deal because it was obviously a machine gun—and he had it at the ready.

"He's got a gun!"

The cry was taken up and several people moved to box us in.

Cameras turned away from the speaker, following the pointing fingers to the man with the gun.

To _us_.

We were live.

 _Oh_ , I thought.

"Fuck," Dad said.


	8. Chapter 8

Dragon turned away from the cameras, hiding the bullet holes that studded her face and upper chest as best she could. My dad and I reflexively followed suit, but there wasn't much of a point. Our faces had been captured, open for any gang retaliation or police interference.

Then she took the only path that was relatively open—towards the reporters. She put a fist through the lens of the nearest large camera, and the force of the blow bowled over the entire crew.

The others moved hastily out of the way to prevent damage to their own equipment, and dad and I rushed after her, ignoring their angry exclamations.

I looked over my shoulder and saw there were other people, mostly bald young men, pushing through the crowd after us. I didn't have a solution to them at hand, though I hoped the ABB would show up soon and provide a distraction. Some of the skinheads here had to be E88 members, and they'd probably take exception to a blatant incursion by a rival gang.

We were nearly to the edge of the park, but the rally had spilled over into the street. Dragon would have to do a lot more than clear cameramen.

At the thought of cameramen, a nasty idea occurred to me. If the terminator I'd spent so much effort getting away from earlier saw this clip, it would recognize us.

"Dragon, what are the chances that Mr. Wallis is monitoring the news?" I asked.

"I would. Just in case."

"Just in case?" I asked.

"Just in case."

So not only was our location being broadcast, the machine hunting me would know where we were soon, if it didn't already. And it would probably be able to figure out why we were in this neighborhood. All it had to do to catch us was get between us and Brian's apartment.

_Damn it, Dad._

"I have bad news," Dragon said.

"Is the bad news that we're surrounded by reporters and a mob of Nazis and there's a killer robot after us?"

"No, I wouldn't say something we already all know is 'news.' I'm listening to police scanners. They've identified you, Danny, as the same person who escaped from the hospital."

And the police wouldn't be far from a Nazi protest. They'd be on us soon.

_Damn it, Dad!_

Wait, that was unfair. I tried to talk myself down. He'd done his best to protect me. Would I be complaining if he'd been right about Dragon and had needed that weapon to save my life?

No, because I'd be dead. From Dragon. Who had gotten to me long before he'd thought to steal weapons from a gang.

"Damn it, Dad!"

But Dragon wasn't done. "And they're blaming you for the guards I shot."

"Damn it, Dragon!"

"The guards will live." Then, in a tone of sharing a confidence, she added: "Future Taylor cares a lot about that."

"Present Taylor doesn't want you to shoot anybody at all! Speaking of, _Dad_ , get rid of that gun."

He did, but only by throwing it at the knees of a skinhead who tried to get into our way. The three of us jumped over the fallen Nazi and finally cleared the crowd.

By now I could see we were on a collision course with a line of sedans topped with red and blue lights. Police cars.

 _Fuck_.

I tried to think like a real soldier would. There were three of us: an infiltration unit that couldn't infiltrate (because she was riddled with bullets), a fugitive who couldn't flee (because he was blocked in by gangsters and cops), and a commander who couldn't command (because she was a teenager without an actual army).

What else did we have? I cast my mind back over the day's events, looking for something I could use. I didn't have anything useful on me, my dad had nothing at all with him, so there had to be something with Dragon—

"Can you try that voice trick?" I asked her.

"Trick?"

"Where you sound like someone else. Can you trick the police into going somewhere else while we escape?"

"I'd need to get hold of one of their radios," Dragon said. "Right now I can receive but not transmit."

I didn't think we were going to be able to get close enough to a cop or a car in order to do that unnoticed.

I heard squealing tires and rising shouts from the other end of the park, by where we'd entered. The ABB had showed up; if we tried to backtrack now we'd only run into _them_.

"You were right," my dad said. He wiped more blood away from his nose. "This is my fault."

I was caught off-guard. I hadn't expected him to actually agree with me. I suspected most teenagers would have been pleased to hear that from their parents, but there was something in his expression that worried me.

"The police are after me, not you." He sighed. "We have to split up."

Then, before I could say anything, he took off, sprinting directly at the nearest cop car.

"Here," Dragon said. She took hold of my arm, slid open the side door of a news van, and more or less chucked me inside.

"What the hell, Dragon!"

"Future Taylor moves faster," she replied, climbing into the driver's seat. That she had to make room for herself by throwing the original driver out of the car didn't seem to register with her. "And Future Taylor would have thought of hiding here herself."

And Future Taylor probably wouldn't have let her dad run off.

I was beginning to resent Future Taylor.


	9. Chapter Nine

It took me a few moments, but I finally picked myself up, got my bearings, and hauled myself into the passenger seat.

As I moved to fasten my belt, I glanced at the side mirror. A straight-laced couple, a man and a woman, ran out into the road and started kicking the shit out of the reporter Dragon had removed from the van.

I leaned forward, trying to get a better view. "Dragon, there's someone—"

"Leave him," she said.

Fuck that. I popped the door handle and prepared to jump, but Dragon grabbed my arm, holding me fast.

"I know all of your tricks," she said, not taking her eyes off the road. "Close the door. Buckle up."

I struggled. "It's _our_ fault he's getting hurt, so _we_ should be the ones to help him."

"Close the door. Buckle up."

Feigning defeat, I closed the door and started complaining. "I can't buckle my seatbelt right with one hand. Give me my arm back."

"No," she said. "I know all of your tricks. Buckle up."

I did, but she still kept hold of my arm.

Not that she needed to. We were going so fast that I wouldn't try to jump out again.

"What are my tricks?" I asked. "Aside from throwing my dad away and letting people get hurt for no reason."

Dragon veered around a corner. I glanced at the speedometer. 55 in a 25.

Not a risk I would have taken in a van this size, but the fact we didn't tip over probably meant that she'd done the math. I resolved to have her be our driver whenever possible.

"I know what you look like when you lie. I know that you can't do it right unless you think you're telling the truth."

"That's just another way of saying that I can't lie," I said.

"Neither can I."

"You're built for lying. That's your whole point. Infiltration units."

"I got caught," she said. "It's easy to fool people in the short term, but lying is something we have a hard time understanding. It's very hard to get right. Lying, and the hair."

I focused on what was probably the least important part of all that.

Did I want to know where her hair came from?

I did not.

"How long were you and Future Taylor together?"

"Three years," she said. "If you want to know why I stopped you from going back, it's because Future You learned to prioritize and told me to prioritize for Present You."

 _Prioritizing_ was a very machine way of thinking about things, I thought. It was really just making choices about who to throw away. "Do I learn to abandon my _dad_?"

"No, you don't learn to abandon your dad." She finally made eye contact with me, and somehow the fact I knew it was artificial lent it _more_ weight. "He never gave you a choice. Ever."

That...wasn't a burden I wanted to bear. I wasn't ready. "We'll have to get him back," I said. "I don't care if I have to get away from you to do it, I _will_ save him."

"Like that," Dragon said. "A lie you don't know is a lie."

"You have to know it's a lie in order for it to _be_ a lie. That's Lying 101—how come I never taught you that?"

No response.

"You know that when my dad gets thrown in jail, the other one will just use _him_ as bait."

"Yes, but only if using Brian Laborn fails."

"Why do you say Brian Laborn and not Brian? It sounds wrong."

"I don't know him."

"Why not?"

"Brian Laborn was captured by Scion before I was made," she said. "You said 'a life is a life, no man left behind.'"

The last phrases were spoken in my voice, which held a grim determination I'd certainly never heard coming from my own mouth.

"But it was a trap. Other people got captured. Aisha, Sabah, you. Then other people died getting you out." She cut someone off. "So you said no more rescues."

"Brian died?"

"Sometimes you said so," she said. "That's another thing that's hard to understand about humans. He was still alive, but you said he wasn't. Is that a lie?"

The _fuck_ kind of trauma was he put through? "What did Future Taylor say?"

"Future Taylor wouldn't explain it. She made that face when I asked."

I examined the face in question in the same mirror that I'd just used to watch two humans beat another one. It was mostly confused, I decided. Confused, and a little frustrated.

"I don't think she knew how to explain it," I said. "But Brian survived?"

"Yes, but he didn't want to be around metal and never met me."

I'd spent three years with Dragon, and it sounded like I used her a lot. Three years and my bodyguard had never seen my boyfriend? That sounded like he wasn't my boyfriend anymore.

I bit my lip. Was that my fault? What had happened, and why hadn't I stopped it before it happened? I had to know.

"What did they do to him?"

"Nothing," she said. "They knew you'd come for him and waited. Then they tortured you and Aisha and told him they'd stop if he told them about your pasts. That's how Scion knows your real names."

I kept my eyes on the mirror.

"Like I said," Dragon continued. "You learn."

I wasn't so sure about that. Future Taylor had sent Theresa back to me, and here we were, running around trying to rescue him. And she hadn't said she _wouldn't_ help me rescue my dad. And maybe I could figure out who the reporter was and find a way to help him—pay his hospital bills, chase down the Nazis who had attacked him, or something.

We pulled up to Brian's apartment, where she parked in the fire lane. By now there wasn't any point to avoiding cell phones, so I called him on one of the burners I'd picked up from our loft.

"Hey," I said, interrupting his greeting. "I'm outside with a friend. We have to talk. Brace yourself, it's crazy."

"I'm not at home," he said.

"What? Why not? Where are you?"

"Don't ask that," Dragon interjected. "It makes you sound like a terminator."

I put a finger in my other ear so I didn't have to hear it.

"I'm at Aisha's school," he said. "They called and said she got suspended, so I had to go pick her up."

I lowered my phone.

Aisha. I'd forgotten about Aisha.


	10. Chapter 10

Dragon had ditched the van some blocks away from Brian's apartment in favor of a lifted pickup, arguing that it was less conspicuous than something with channel seven's bright blue and yellow logo splashed all over it.

Which was right as far as it went, but the truck was heavily customized - which pointed to an owner that valued it and would immediately report its theft. But I'd let it slide because, at the moment? I didn't care. I was more focused on trying to explain why Brian couldn't simply walk up to the school and ask about his sister without bringing in time-traveling robot assassins. I knew him well enough to know _that_ would be something he would have to see for himself.

"Look," I said, trying a fourth tack. "Did you hear the news? There was a shooting at Winslow today."

"Yes," he said, and his tone shifted, became harsher. "And I've been trying to get in touch with you. The only reason I'm not chewing you out right now is that the reports said nobody was actually hurt."

"I wasn't hurt because I got away," I said, quashing my instinct to defend myself. I'd explain once we were all out of danger. "It's a long story, but I had to ditch my phone because the guy who did that was after _me_. I was trying to avoid being tracked, and I ran into trouble. The cops think my dad shot his way out of the hospital, and I think he just got arrested. We left him to come get you."

"Who's 'we'? Is Rachel or someone with you?"

"New friend," I said. "Now the same guy is at Aisha's school and he's after her. And he wants you to come get her so he can kill you too."

He started asking the same questions I would have asked, but I spoke over him. The school was in sight, but I judged we still had two or three minutes to get through the lights that governed the left turns we'd have to make to get into the parking lot. "Brian, I got backup and I'm almost there. Just _wait_ , we'll figure it out together."

Before he could reply, Dragon suddenly pulled off the road, hopped a curb, and started driving over the soccer field.

"Um, we're almost there. Where are you?"

No answer. He'd hung up on me. I turned to Dragon, who picked up her previous line of conversation. "Don't ask people where they are. It's the first thing terminators ask humans."

I ignored the admonishment. We could sort out a code that would let us identify ourselves to each other later. "Do you know if it knows what we look like?"

"It should know what Brian Laborn looks like," she said, "And it can find Aisha's picture in the school's computer system. As of this morning, it can also visually identify you."

Leaving Alec, Rachel, and Lisa as the only ones it could overlook in a crowd. As Dragon pulled up in front of the school's main entrance, I developed a to-do list: find Aisha, find Brian, rescue them both, explain things to everyone, develop a system, and keep the other three off of the Terminator's radar. And also figure out how to destroy the terminator.

"There are two other targets who can be found easily," Dragon said. "Sabah has a fashion label and can simply be googled, which will also pull up pictures of her wife."

"She's a fashion designer? And a resistance soldier? Really?"

"Sabah said that she had to adapt to circumstances. Lily blames you."

_Blames?_

I'd ask her later. We were pulling into the school parking lot—no, we were driving through the parking lot and onto the school lawn, right up to the door.

"I will go after them," Dragon said. "Keep the car running and the doors unlocked."

"If it was presented with a choice between killing Brian and killing Aisha, what would it choose?"

"Aisha," Dragon said. "She becomes more effective over time."

I still didn't really see it, but it wasn't like I could afford to reject what I'd been shown and told so far. _Brian_ hadn't sent me a message from the future, yet Aisha had. Dragon apparently hadn't met Brian in three years, but she knew Aisha. And when the terminator had lost sight of me, it hadn't gone to Brian's apartment but to Aisha's school.

That pointed to a certain set of priorities, and I thought I could exploit it. Foiled in its attempts to get me, the terminator had defaulted to lower priority targets. Aisha would be bait for Brian, and Brian would be bait for me. The perfect trap, and I'd been so caught up in worrying about him that I'd overlooked her.

I thought that posed a weakness I could exploit, but I knew Dragon wouldn't let me do it.

She knew all of my tricks, did she?

"Did Future Aisha give you an idea of where she might be?" I asked, though just voicing the thought made me feel guilty. Why didn't I know the answer to my question? She was my favorite person's most important person; why hadn't I taken the basic steps to get to know her better?

"Unclear," Dragon said. "She always told me that she skipped a lot of school, but never enough to really get in trouble."

"All right," I said. "So it will be more interested in Aisha than Brian. Can you go find her? I'll call Brian back and get him out here."

Dragon disappeared into the building and I scooted over to the driver's seat.

As soon as she was out of sight, I left and started circling the school, looking for either a terminator or a Laborn.

I had gone around twice when I finally saw Brian, who was walking away from me, probably making his way to the nearest bus stop. His focus was on his phone, and he was oblivious to the cyborg that was following him.

I rolled down the window. "Run!" My voice sounded strangled, too high. Not loud or forceful enough, and I didn't get either its attention or Brian's. I swallowed, took a deep breath, and tried again.

"Hey!" I shouted. I honked the horn for good measure—and it was _fucking_ loud because the _fucking_ owner had put in a _fucking_ airhorn—but the terminator didn't stop or even turn around. Brian did both, and I wished he hadn't. Stopping cost him inches, feet, of distance that Mr. Wallis claimed easily. "Not you! It!"

Brian gaped at me, and I pulled my pistol. It wouldn't kill the terminator, but I needed it to pay wasn't paying attention to me. I wasn't confident enough in my aim to focus on Mr. Wallis's head, so I shot him in the back enough times that I lost count. Five or six, maybe. He stumbled slightly forward, then turned to see what was happening. I saw that it had apparently used a stapler gun to reaffix the flap of face that Dragon had torn off in their initial encounter.

"Look, it's me!" I said. "Yeah, that's right. Taylor Hebert, right here!" I flipped it off for good measure, but Brian still wasn't moving. Hadn't he just seen that the "person" behind him could get shot six times without feeling it? Surely he could figure out that he couldn't take it on by himself and needed to get away?

"Brian, you dumbass!" I shouted. "Run!"

Then I followed my own advice. I threw the car into reverse and turned my attention to my rear-view mirror, confident that Mr. Wallis had seen enough of me to adjust his priorities.

My plan had worked, leaving me with only one problem: that my plan had worked.


End file.
